


Chicago Blues

by ireallyhatecornnuts (CharleyFoxtrot)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, gratuitous misuse of Led Zeppelin lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:29:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharleyFoxtrot/pseuds/ireallyhatecornnuts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right now, Sam <i>really</i> fucking hates <i>Led Zeppelin IV</i>, and most especially When the Levee Breaks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicago Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> I don't generally write Wincest; the pairing as a whole doesn't appeal to me for very specific reasons, although I don't have any particular hatred for it either (I'm an unabashed multishipper). But [a friend of mine on tumblr](http://timelordsatan.tumblr.com/) _loves_ Wincest and we got [into](http://ireallyhatecornnuts.tumblr.com/post/44443969321/timelordsatan-replied-to-your-post-i-have-no) [a](http://ireallyhatecornnuts.tumblr.com/post/44444242336/timelordsatan-replied-to-your-post) [series](http://ireallyhatecornnuts.tumblr.com/post/44444535010/timelordsatan-replied-to-your-post) of [discussions](http://ireallyhatecornnuts.tumblr.com/post/44444870941/timelordsatan-replied-to-your-post) [about](http://ireallyhatecornnuts.tumblr.com/post/44445306087/timelordsatan-replied-to-your-post) [it](http://ireallyhatecornnuts.tumblr.com/post/44447118755/timelordsatan-replied-to-your-post) and I accidentally Wincested for her?
> 
> Happy belated birthday, Hana.
> 
> I don't expect I'll be writing any more of this pairing, but as always you can find me at ireallyhatecornnuts.tumblr.
> 
> This fic is entirely unbeta'd; any mistakes are my own.

It’s not that Sam has a  _problem_  with bluesy rock, although he figures that by all accounts he  _should_ , considering the two men he grew up with.

Hell, he doesn’t even mind Led Zeppelin, although once again - considering his brother - he really,  _really_ ought to.

He’ll never admit to Dean that he has A Perfect Circle’s version on his iPod and rarely skips past the song on shuffle; he’ll also never admit that after Dean went to Hell, he downloaded Zep’s version and listened to it constantly. Just to  _remember_.

He  _definitely_  won’t admit that the one time Ruby tried to put it on in the car, he very nearly used her own knife on her.

But right now, Sam  _really_  fucking hates  _Led Zeppelin IV_ , and most especially When the Levee Breaks.

See, the first time it happened, when he was sixteen and they’d been doing this for a few months, Sam didn’t really mind it. Hell, some might even say he participated enthusiastically; lord knows the people in the room next door complained about the loud music and the accompanying moaning. If Sam had had any say in the matter, he’d have challenged  _them_  to keep quiet when their older brother was just _completely_  taking them apart, grinding into them to the slow, aching beat of a classic song about a devastating flood.

The next time it happened, a few weeks later, Sam chalked it up to coincidence. Not to toot his own horn, but Sam’s a pretty smart guy and he thinks the only reason he didn’t put two and two together and come up with four was that he was busy having a mind-blowing orgasm courtesy one Dean Winchester.

After the fourth and fifth times it started to become a Thing. It wasn’t like Sam begged Dean to fuck him every  _night_ , but it happened frequently enough, and still, once or twice a month Dean would slip the only CD he’d ever willingly purchased ( _Led Zeppelin IV_ ) into Sam’s CD player and set When the Levee Breaks on repeat. And then Dean would would just utterly  _wreck_  Sam, a complete contrast to their hurried encounters on the nights when Sam would fight with John and get a separate room and then Dean would fuck his little brother into the mattress.

(Sometimes Sam would fight with John just because it meant he had a moment alone with Dean, and sometimes Dean would catch him at it and send him this sly little smirk, but he never interrupted and he always came to his room anyway.)

After Sam left for college and met Jess, it slowly occurred to him that on those nights, on  _Levee_  nights, Dean wasn’t  _fucking_  him. It was slower, sensual, both of them taking their time, and probably the closest to making love that Dean would ever come.

Sam could never figure out what it was about that particular song that inspired his older brother to be gentle, almost loving, and he tried for  _years_  after Jess died. Even that horrible year after Dean came back from Hell refused to shed light on the subject.

And Sam was tired of it.

Dean still resolutely refused to learn how to use Sam’s iPod (although he used his smartphone just  _fine_ ; Sam’s brother wasn’t stupid, just deliberately obtuse), so Sam knew what kind of night it was going to be after Cas had fucked off somewhere to look for God and Dean pulled a battered CD case out of his duffel. That case had seen better days, but Sam knew (with good reason) that the CD inside was as pristine as the day it had been purchased. Dean was careful with it like he was careful with his car or Ruby’s fucking knife.

And even then, it didn’t occur to Sam to be annoyed until midway through it all, when they were both stripped naked and sweaty in the southern humidity, Dean’s mouth wrapped around Sam’s cock and Dean’s fingers shoved up his ass, moving in time to the music and driving. Sam.  _Insane_.

It wasn’t that Sam was morally opposed to slow, sensual sex, but it was like Dean was being a  _deliberate_ tease on nights like these. (As opposed to being an unintentional tease, which was pretty much par for the course because Dean knew that he was good looking but he  _didn’t_  seem to be aware what those fucking jeans  _did_  to Sam.) Dean knew  _damn_  well that the pace he was setting wasn’t going to get his brother off any time soon, despite the fact that the eldest Winchester had a mouth like a fuckin’  _Dyson_ , and they’d been going at it for almost an hour at this point.

“Okay, what the  _hell_ , Dean?” Sam demanded, propping himself up on two elbows and looking down to regard him. He hissed slightly as Dean tongued at the slit of his cock, but there was no way he was going to let the fucker distract him.

Oh  _god_ , okay, maybe just a little bit -

No.  _Wait_.

“Seriously, Dean - ah,  _shit_  - no,  _stop_ ,” he said, flailing a little with his hands until he managed to distract his older brother from his task.

“Dude, Sammy,” Dean said, and he sounded cranky - well, crankier than  _usual_  - which Sam guessed he couldn’t really blame him for, but  _still_. Off in the corner was a battered boombox, from whence Robert Plant was crooning that crying wouldn’t help and praying wouldn’t do you no good, which Sam could empathize with,  _seriously_ , but he still wanted to tear the man to pieces. “What the fuck?”

“Seriously, what is it with you and this song?” Sam demanded.

If anything, Dean looked even  _bitchier_. “You’re choosing  _now_  to question my musical taste?  _Seriously_?” He leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms, which was actually sort of hilarious because he was every bit as naked as his little brother was, and sporting a hard-on.

“I’ve been questioning your musical taste since I learned to  _walk_ , Dean.  _This_  song, though -”

Dean stood up and started storming toward the CD player. “If you don’t like it I can turn it off,  _Christ_ , I didn’t realize you were morally opposed to Zeppelin.”

Jesus, this was going to be one of  _those_  nights. Sam bolted off the bed and dashed after his brother, grabbing him by the forearm and spinning him around which, probably not the best of ideas considering the fact that they were both highly-strung hunters of the supernatural, but hey. Lucky for him, Dean didn’t use the momentum to punch his lights out or throw him to the floor. Gotta take the good with the bad.

“Dude. Ten years of this song, and every time you drive me  _nuts_ ,” Sam said. The urge to cross his arms defensively was overwhelming. “Ten  _years_. Is there something I’m missing? Not that it’s bad, but I’d like to get off sometime this  _century_.”

Dean’s eyes had skittered off his face about halfway through his rant, focusing on various items throughout their room before landing and staying on what Sam was pretty sure was a bedside lamp.

The silence lasted several seconds before Dean finally spoke.

“Six years,” he said. He licked his lips. “Six. Not ten.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Look, I know our lives are weird but I’m not brain-addled. I know how to do simple math, Dean.”

“Yeah, so can I,” Dean shot back. He glared. “Six years. You were at  _college_. Remember?”

Oh  _shit_.

Dean crossed his arms again. “Look, I never - It wasn’t supposed to be like this, okay? It’s like the man said. _‘Going to Chicago, sorry, but I can’t take you.’_  We knew you were gonna try to leave some day.”

Sam stared at Dean. “What?”

“We knew, okay? We fucking  _knew_. We knew you were applying to colleges and taking the fucking SAT’s and  _we knew you didn’t want to be a hunter_.” With this, Dean grabbed the closest thing to hand - the TV remote - and launched it through the air with enough force that it shattered once it collided with the cheap plaster of the motel room wall. “We  _knew_ , Sammy. Okay? It was always gonna happen, it was just a matter of time, and I  _knew_  I was gonna lose you.”

Sam stared some more, long enough that Dean got angry and pushed past his little brother and started gathering his clothes up. In the background,  _Levee_  started up again.

Finally, Sam turned around toward Dean. “Okay, correct me if I’m wrong,” Sam said, and he knew his face probably looked  _really_  unattractive all screwed up like that as he tried to work this out in his head. “But are you saying that this is  _our song?_ ”

Dean froze in the middle of trying to untangle his boxer briefs from Sam’s much more practical boxers. He was silent for a beat before he muttered, “Sure, if you wanna get all sentimental and shit, I guess.”

And yeah, Sam  _got_  it, because he knew his brother better than probably anyone in the world, and he knew that deep down Dean was about as sentimental as it was possible to get. It was there in the in-between spaces: the way that Sam could remember Dean rocking him to sleep after he had a nightmare when he was six and hummed Hey Jude; the way he risked his life over and over to protect him; shit, the way he _sold his soul to Hell_  just to have him back to himself for a little while longer.

Yeah, Sam got it, he understood, because  _he felt the same way_. It probably wasn’t the natural order of things to fall in love with your brother like that, but when you grow up the way they did, when it’s literally just the two of you fighting for your lives against  _everything_ , things have a way of pushing you together. Hell, Sam hadn’t ever even met another guy who turned his head. It was just Dean. Always  _Dean_.

By now the elder Winchester had managed to separate his clothes from Sam’s and was struggling to get dressed. He wasn’t moving like he was angry, more like he was depressed or maybe annoyed, but  _he was getting dressed_  and that, honestly, wasn’t in the cards for tonight as far as Sam was concerned.

In two short strides Sam was behind his brother, spinning him around again, steadying him cuz he’d been in the middle of trying to put his underwear on, and kissing him like it was his last night on earth (Sam would know; Sam has experienced Dean’s last night on earth once before and if that never happens again it’ll be too soon).

Dean immediately abandoned all attempts to get clothed, his boxer briefs dropping down to his left ankle, the only leg he’d managed to actually get into the things, bringing his hands up to circle Sam’s face. Dean’d always been a gentle kisser, not like Sam had too many opportunities to experience that firsthand; in fact, now that he thought about it, Sam only ever really got Dean’s kisses on  _Levee_  nights. When, apparently, his older brother was feeling more than a bit romantic.

Still, gentle though they were, they were  _amazing_ , the kind of thing that almost took your breath away because Dean, though he tried to hold it back, wore his emotions on his sleeves when it came to his _actions_.

Dean turned slowly, until Sam felt the backs of his legs hit the mattress and then Dean was pushing him and climbing on top of him, latching onto his neck with his lips and biting down, licking up the vein in his neck with little darting motions that made Sam gasp and grab fistfuls of blanket from underneath him. That Dean did them in time to the music wasn’t lost on Sam, but at this point he really couldn’t bring himself to care.

And sure, they’d both gotten a little less than excited during their argument, but that was a problem that was quickly solved; Dean knew Sam’s body like the back of his hand, but the sentiment was mutual, and it wasn’t long before both of them were a shivering, sweat-soaked mess.

The lube had been abandoned at the foot of the bed when Sam had asked his question earlier, and Dean fumbled around for it for a few seconds before the cool bottle came in contact with his leg and he grabbed at it, hands shaking as he popped the cap.

“Turn around, Sammy,” he said, his voice gruff, and Sam complied easily; most of the time Dean had Sam in any number of positions (and occasionally vice-versa), but on Levee nights he  _always_  had Sam on his knees. Even if Sam knew the reason now, he didn’t think that was gonna change anytime soon. That Dean felt the need to have barriers in place didn’t bother him. This was  _Dean_. That was just the way he was.

“C’mon,” he muttered, his breath blowing wisps of his hair out of his face. “ _C’mon_ , Dean.”

“Hold your horses, Christ,” Dean said; the last word was uttered with a hitch to his voice and Sam knew Dean had started slicking himself up properly.

He didn’t have a whole lot of warning, but then again Dean had just done an hour’s worth of prep work so it’s not like he  _needed_  warning. Still, it was almost a shock when Dean slid in, passing through any resistance with ease and seating himself inside Sam like he fucking  _belonged_  there.

Dean stayed that way for a few seconds, his breathing harsh, before he leaned down and grasped at the hair covering the back of Sam’s head; slowly, he pushed Sam’s head down into the pillow, not smothering him but forcing him to look away from his older brother, and Sam knew  _why_  this time, and he didn’t protest when Dean started rocking his hips slowly in time to the music.

He slid his torso down, trying for the angle that he knew without a doubtwould drive Sam  _crazy_  without letting him come, and coincidentally also letting his chest come into contact with Sam’s back, slick with sweat and probably spit and lube.

Dean’s other hand grasped at Sam’s hip, holding him up as Dean took his brother apart one slick movement at a time; Sam kept his head down, but he reached back with his hand and let his fingers cover Dean’s. It was awkward as all hell but he knew, he got it, and he wanted Dean to know that.

Dean loosened his hold enough to let Sam’s fingers work their way around his, and Sam could feel his brother’s mouth working against the knob in his spine, muttering nonsense words and maybe placing the occasional kiss there when he thought Sam wasn’t paying attention.

It took three more renditions of When the Levee Breaks, twenty one aching, sweaty, slick minutes of Dean slowly fucking into and out of Sam, holding his head down gently and murmuring love into his skin, before Dean finally gave in and curled their entwined fingers around Sam’s cock; he pulled Sam’s head back by the hair, just the way Sam liked it, and Sam cried out as his release slammed into him like a fucking semi truck.

By the time he’d finished shaking, Dean had let out an almost startled cry and Sam was pretty sure he’d come too.

They lay there for a minute or two, just letting the music and endorphins wash over them, before Dean pulled out slowly and stood, starting to head over toward the boom box. “I’ll turn it off,” he said, sheepish, his head automatically coming up to rest on the back of his neck.

“Nah, leave it,” Sam said, shrugging as he rolled onto his back (and out of the wet spot).

Dean raised his eyebrow at that, and Sam grinned, bringing his hands around to rest his head on them.

“I like it,” Sam said, closing his eyes as he let the satisfaction flow through him. “Might even be my favorite song.”

And hell, maybe that wasn’t even a lie.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, you can find me at my tumblr, disease-danger-darkness-silence.tumblr.com.


End file.
